


Fears of a Fake

by Fics4you



Series: Embers [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, Achievement Hunters, Alternate Universe, Blood, Blood and Gore, Cinders AU, Cybernetics, Domestic Fluff, F/M, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Fear, Female Jack Pattillo, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Reader-Insert, Scary, Spooky, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fics4you/pseuds/Fics4you
Summary: Construction on the haunted house has been in full swing, and all that’s left to do before hair and makeup is the final walk through so that opening night can go as smoothly and spooky as possible. Not knowing what to expect, join Geoff and the rest of the crew on a journey filled with fear, surprises, and feelings (in true Cinders fashion).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy early Halloween! Welcome to the first installment of a 3 part special for the spookiest of holidays, brought to you by the Fakes. Each part is going to be long as dicks, so I apologise in advance (or not?). However, I worked incredibly hard on this to create something original and out of the box for the haunted house concept. I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing.

 

“Alright fuckers, let’s get this shit show on the road.”  


Geoff claps his hands, rubbing them together in anticipation as he watches the remaining sets come to fruition. Brushing back your hair with a paint splotched hand you return the pallet with a clatter to the floor, stepping away from the final touches you’d been putting on the welcome sign. The man visibly vibrates in excitement, humming cheerfully as he gathers the pile of security cameras Matt is juggling; ready to scatter them throughout the warehouse you’d been working on for months. “Okay Geoff,” you throw over your shoulder at his prompts, “I’m coming.” Snatching a grubby rag you wipe away the paint smearing your skin, dumping it on the floor and collecting a fresh one to stuff into the waistband of your trackies before joining him by the side door. “Where’s Ray?” his suspicions are warranted, the young man having scampered off at the sound of Geoff’s approaching footsteps. You offer what you hope to be a convincing shrug, his mustache twitching skeptically at your response; “working on his room?”  


“Why don’t I believe you?”   
  
“I dunno, Geoff. That sounds like a  _you_  problem.”  


You had to admit, you found it incredibly ironic that a man who love Halloween so much was the biggest scaredy cat you’d ever met. Still, it was the one holiday that he took in his stride. Jack had Thanksgiving, Michael and Gavin had fought it out for bonfire night, and you and Ryan had taken on the Christmas cheer. But Halloween was all Geoff, through and through. As soon as October rolled around the penthouse would be littered with plastic spiders and cobwebs, fake bones and surprisingly joyous ghosts left to haunt every corner he could find. Mechanical creatures were hidden away to guard the fridge in the dead of night, shrieking at the slightest movement and making 2am adventures to the fridge a terrifying ordeal. Finding Gavin curled into a whimpering ball with a witch cackling while he rocked in a pile of stolen cookies had been the last straw; Ryan and yourself moving back into your apartment with Ray in tow so you could raid the cupboards in peace.  


That didn’t mean you spent much time in the comfortable confines of your own home. On the contrary, you had spent every night of the past week sleeping on a pile of crinkled tarps in the haunted house you’d diligently constructed; covered in paint and holiday excitement. Geoff didn’t need to tell you how thankful he was – though he did at every opportunity – because the sparkle in his eyes was enough. Every overjoyed gasp brought a smile to your lips, his gushes over your handiwork and creations making the late nights on the floor with Ryan worth it. Now’s no different, his face alight as he dances giddy from side to side while opening the door for you. “I want to do one last check of the rooms before this shit goes live,” he declares, satisfied by your nods of confirmation, “most of the guys should be nearly ready for wardrobe and makeup by now.”  


You squint into the glaring sun as you emerge outside, light peeking through the clouds and dusting across a world gripped by autumn. Clusters of deep auburns and warm oranges tumble through the street, leaves dancing on the chilly wind without a care. Pride swells in your chest at the sight of the warehouse, completely transformed and near unrecognisable. The production efforts and bruises had ultimately paid off, the decrepit Victorian home being constructed over a matter of months to now loom eerily above; like it had been planted there for generations. The windows screamed down at you, rattling within the rickety boards clawing at the cracks to hold the structure steady. Inside the walls were the gnarled and battered remains of the years of pain you’d forced inside with a paintbrush and hot glue gun. No effort had been spared in creating an absolutely haunting atmosphere for your guests, every meticulously placed lantern ready to flicker and cast distorted shadows across the twisted attraction and jump in anticipation.  “Are you ready to head through?” Your question accompanies the delicate raise of an eyebrow, quietly sussing out the level of bravery Geoff had managed to muster in the short walk through the warm pallet of autumn. He shudders, eyeing the building critically, “no. Let’s get on with it.”  


And with that you’re pushing open the doors, wood creaking ominously to reveal the dark and dusty foyer doused in a deep, royal purple hue. A grand staircase curves elegantly up to a level that peers curiously down upon those entering the space, maroon carpet frayed and banister mistreated and tarnished. Large ornate picture frames house oil paintings of corpses dressed in their Sunday best, empty eyes peeking around the white sheets draped across the lavish furniture. Exquisite mirrors lay fractured against walls with blossoming brass flowers, distorting the room and twisting with the shimmer of your own reflection. Each step creeks, echoing softly and rattling against those occupying the room, moths fluttering from the homes they’d nested inside of cushions and coverings. A generous glittering chandelier hangs its head in disgrace in the corner, jewels tinkling faintly with the gentle breeze, a memory long since forgotten as it reminisces over the guests it never truly experienced. Strewn across the floor and crunching under foot are bundles of leaves, spinning together before dispersing into the throbbing silence as you move deeper inside. You take in the glorious fireplace, hearth filled with ash and releasing it into the air, sculptures cracked and crumbling beneath the illusion of time.  


It’s through the shadows that the space is able to mourn, abandoned and lost without an owner, nothing more than a fine layer of dust as the final touch the room would ever feel. Through the thick gloom a dotting of lights struggle to flicker and fizz, dousing the room in blackness before surging with an unearthly glow, coating the space in an overwhelming heaviness, tainting the air bitter and sharp. You could almost taste the age in the dust swirling through your lungs, concentrated and stodgy. Everything almost vibrates in anticipation; every noise dull and soft as the walls absorb the haunting sounds humming through the space, floor quickly devouring the thuds of your feet, chasing your movements hungrily. You don’t have to see Geoff’s face to recognise the weight settling nervously across his shoulders, shuddering with the wails of the wind clawing through the shattered windows, bringing with it fragments of a story you’d expertly woven.  


Still you turn to him, the extravagant doors slamming shut with a subtle shift of breeze fanning from your grace, Geoff jumping with a high pitched gasp to clutch his chest and glaring at the offending structure. “This is incredible, Y/N,” he praises, pressing closer to the wall and reaching out a finger to touch the dark smears splattered throughout the room “it almost looks real.”  
“It  _is_  real.”  
“Gah!” Panicked he bounces frantically, catching the rag you snag from your track pants and toss to him; wiping his fingers with relief.  
“I don’t do things by halves, Pops,” you point out, opening up your arms and spinning slowly in the space until the lights flicker out once again. With a frown you wander towards Geoff, brows furrowed in confusion and concern. A spark sees the room yet again doused in the amber glow that illuminates your skin, having ghosted to stand before him in the dark. “Geoff – please stop screaming – there’s a problem with the lights.”   
  
“Please stop jumping out at me, that’s not nice.”  
  
“I literally moved, like, 10 steps.”  
   
“In the dark.”  
  
“That makes no difference.”  
  
“It makes all the difference,” he rebuts, hands moving to hold the air and shake it in frustration, “it makes it fucking creepy.”  


You roll your eyes with a sigh, letting him win this round as the room is again plunged into darkness; lights failing to flicker as you’d programmed, the frown returning to your face. “See?” You complain into the shadows, Geoff’s breathing quickening until the room is lit again; “it’s suppose to fade every 7 to 15 seconds, go black and then flicker for another 8. We aren’t getting any flickers, just on and off.” Geoff takes notice, face clouding in concern with the creases folding his forehead. He, more than anybody, wanted everything to be perfect for the big reveal to the public - 4 hours away and counting down. “We’ll ask Matt about it when we finish the rooms,” he finally concludes, glancing around the space and rolling up the cuff on his dress shirt, crooked tattooed fingers tugging on fabric and playing with the translucent button. “Speaking of which,” you point a directing finger to the bag slumped at his feet, “don’t forget the cameras.” Geoff nods, waving a handful at you before stashing them in the corner of the entrance, between the banister, and nestled within the fire place.  “Nice, we’ll be able to get everything from here. Matt’s coming through later, right?”   
  
“That’s the plan. He’s probably still working in the kitchen. The Buzz saw’s been giving me some trouble.”   
  
“Fucking thing nearly took Jack’s hands off this morning,” you remember, the blades cutting through your memory with a series of sharp whirls and shudders.  
  
“Exactly. Would be great for the production value, not so good for ratings.”  


You laugh nervously at the thought while ascending the stairs with Geoff, knowing Jack would fully consider being torn to shreds by a buzz saw simply for the content. She was a fearless woman, and it was honestly terrifying. Still, you put her out of your mind as you ghost through the hallway steeped in cobwebs that seemingly stretches on forever, walls and floor curving at unusual angles that throw off your balance. The door at the end is modest, deep purple and reaching just above your elbows with a golden ornate handle. You stare down at it perplexed, the ceiling pressing against the top of your head and carpet scuffing up uneven beneath your feet. “You’ve got to be kidding,” you huff, falling to a crouch and opening the door as Geoff giggles in excitement. “This is so awesome.”  


Working through the doorway the room expands, the underside of the bed looming before you. Dark and ominous, a soft scratching emanates from beneath it; claws catching against the rotten wood. You’re immediately on edge when you stand, not wanting to lose sight of the impenetrable darkness seething from beneath the sheets. Still, the bright orange and purple light haunts the space, uneasy as it drapes over the bedroom and burrows into the corners. Geoff follows behind you, jittery wines humming from his lips as he spots the seemingly empty space beneath the bed. He quickly scampers to your side as his eyes dart around the room, taking in the rickety wooden frame and moth-eaten sheets, tendrils of cobwebs twirling from the ceiling and catching in the faint, whispering breeze. The sizable wardrobe door creaks open before bouncing shut with a multitude of sharp taps, furniture cluttered with plumes of feathers and floorboards riddled with tiny bones. More than anything it was the low hum that pressed against your eardrums like a speaker’s feedback, raising the hair on your neck higher than the cold air sneaking past the curtains and nibbling on your fingers.    


“This is fucking cool,” you breathe, inching further into the room with Geoff sticking to you like glue. Each step kicks up dust, bones rattling across the floor as you approach, making sure to keep your feet out of reach from the blank space. “I dare you to look under the bed.”  
  
“What?” squeaks Geoff, shuddering and shaking his head frantically; “no, no you do it!”  
  
“C’mon Geoff,” you try to reason, refusing to turn your back on the bed or shuddering wardrobe. “We have to make sure everything’s working for tonight.”  
  
“Oh no,” his holds up a hand that trembles as feverishly as his voice, accusing you of whatever foul betrayal he was constructing in his fearful mind; “I’ll give you a raise.”  
  
“You literally don’t pay me. It’s a first in, fight to the death, type deal.”  
  
“And a paid week off.” You roll your eyes in astonishment, watching him shuffle anxiously as the scratching starts again. You jump slighting at the sound, body running cold and jaw setting tight in defiance. “Geoff, I’m not looking under the bed.”  
  
“I’ll pay for your honeymoon.”  


You’re on your knees in an instant, bones fracturing beneath the collision with the scuffed wooden boards. Stealing a deep breath you stretch out a hand, fingers tentatively tugging at sheet’s hem while the room creaks and moans. Your heart hammers in your ears with an uncomfortable ache, a flurry of scratches setting your teeth on edge while your nerves shoot off in a panic. Everything inside you screams for you to run, pulling aside far more difficult than you could have imagined, the strain stinging the backs of your eyes while you apprehensively search for something – anything – lurking in the darkness.

  
“Oh, hey guys.”   
  
“AHHHH!”   
  
“AHHHH!” Geoff’s shriek has you bolting upright, head smacking painfully against the lower bed frame as you scamper to you feet and whirl on Jeremy; the young man mirroring the elder’s screech. Breathing heavily and glaring with enough ferocity you could start a fire; you watch each of the two men continue to scream, Geoff bouncing in fear and Jeremy looking confused. “Hey, hey!” You yell, trying to calm them down by placing a hand on Geoff’s shoulder, lips pressing into a thin line as he jumps again but eventually settles. “Why the fuck are you screaming?” Jeremy shrugs, cheerful as ever while he glows beneath the throbbing orange and purple lights.

“I dunno; we were all doing it. I just wanted to be part of something.” You frown, Geoff’s head falling into his hands as he chuckles nervously through his fingers, Jeremy patting him on the shoulder apologetically with a “sorry pal.”

“You still owe me my honeymoon,” you remind the tattooed man with a playful jab, relieved as he begins to recover and control his shaking. He grows more confident when exploring the room, Jeremy’s presence helping ease the anxiety that’d been building up in his chest and clogging his throat. “Fine, a deal’s a deal,” he huffs, poking a spider sat in one of the many webs, jumping away when he realises it wasn’t a prop, “where were you wanting to go, and how much is it going to hurt?”   
“Greece, and a lot.” At your words Jeremy gives you a puzzled look, a mixture of sympathy and confusion shifting in his eyes with the unspoken questions you knew to be bubbling between his lips.  


Geoff doesn’t notice, instead turning to the shorter man with hair glowing neon, a proud beam on his face. “You’ve done a great job, Lil J.” He sweeps a hand around the room, Jeremy sharing his grin. “Yeah,” you offer him a one armed hug and a compliment, “this place is fucking creepy.”   
  
“Thanks,” he delights with a cheer, “don’t wanna brag or anything, but the end scare will be freaky as fuck.”  
  
“You gonna tell us what you’re planning?” Geoff’s inquiry is met with a stubborn head shake, a knowing grin creeping across Jeremy’s lips.   
  
“nope, you’ll have to wait and see.” You clap Geoff on the back, signalling that it was time to move on if you were still intending to explore the other rooms before the curtains came up, his deep sigh vibrating against your fingers and burrowing into your elbow “can’t blame a man for trying.”   
  
“Hey, when you see Michael can you give him this? Careful, its cold.” He turns to retrieve a burlap sack, its contents clinking as he presses it into your waiting hand, surprisingly heavy. “Sure,” confirms Geoff, tossing a few cameras in his direction from his own rucksack, “as long as you put these up.”   
“Deal.”

With that you’re squeezing back out of the tiny door and into the constricting hallway, racing out to avoid letting the confusion keep playing havoc with your stomach. Geoff is close behind, a permanent smile on his face whenever he wasn’t utterly terrified. You had to hand it to him; you envied his bravery and love of a holiday that constantly kept him up at night. Walking together you move back downstairs, waving at Jack as she talks animatedly with a Trevor clad in a dark sweatshirt with a printed skull, his head nodding vigorously while the man beside him in a baseball tee tries his best not to seem lost. Noticing your descent Jack waves you down, a smile as broad as her shoulders adorning her freckled face, eyes sparkling warmly into your embrace. “Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here,” she exclaims, pulling away to muse Geoff’s already chaotic hair, the man blushing deeply; “I wanted to go over some stuff for the tour. I’m in your room so there’s some crap I wanted to make sure you’re cool with me doing.”   
  
“Of course! We can talk about it during hair and makeup,” you reassure, smiling up at the woman towering over 6ft in her reliable heels before turning your attention to Trevor and his friend.  


“So, who’s this?” You motion to the man beside the blond, his eyes wide and looking at you in awe.  
  
“Oh, this is Alfredo; he’s helping me us tonight. We’ve known each other since I was like, 10.”  
  
“I dunno dude,” says Alfredo, his voice deep and warm “it feels a lot longer than that.”  
  
“It’s because you hate me.”  
  
“Oh that’s right,” he recalls fondly before elbowing Trevor in the side with a cheeky and bright grin, “how could I forget?”  
  
“Ouch, maybe because you’re a gargantuan ass?” He rubs his arm, hopping from side to side before continuing, “I’ve been meaning to introduce you fuck for a while. Sauce, this is the Cheshire.”

You offer out a hand to Alfredo while expecting him to flinch away like the many others, pleasantly surprised as he takes it eagerly and shakes. “It’s really nice to meet you,” he gushes before you get the chance, eyes alight with excitement as he lets your hand go and leans towards Trevor, whispering loudly; “is this the girl that nearly killed you that one time?”  
  
Trevor angles closer to him, staring you dead in the eyes with a serious expression while replying, “yeah.”   
  
“Cool,” he breathes, ecstatic, “fight me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He’s serious,” laughs Jack, watching him fondly, “he’ll fight anything.” You roll your weight, hand making its way you your hip while raising an eyebrow, accepting his challenge. “You really think you could take me?”  
  
“Oh god no,” he shakes his head, still smiling “but think of the story.” You laugh, peels of cheer bouncing around the foyer while lightly punching his shoulder, his hand gripping the site with a grin, “I like you.”  
  
“Did you hear that?” He turns eagerly to Trevor, clutching the tops of his arms and shaking him, incredibly excited, “the Cheshire likes me.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s rare. Normally she threatens every friend I bring home, and the ones I don’t. She just threatens everything in general. And, err… you do know she can hear you fangirling, right?”  
  
“Right,” he drops his hands, facing you again with a forcibly blank expression while Trevor groans in mock embarrassment, “gotta be cool.”   
  
“Oh lord, Fredo just stop. This hurts, this physically hurts me.”  


“He’s a great shot,” comments Geoff from your right, looking at Alfredo with fatherly pride and ignoring Trevor’s displeasure, “he was our stand in sniper for the harder jobs after Ray died.”  
  
“God rest his soul,” you chuckle, reaching a hand out to touch Trevor’s and gain his attention; “you wanna tag along?” He nods vigorously, collecting some equipment he’d stashed momentarily on one of the covered plush seats, stuffing the items into a bag. “Hell yes. Please take me away from his idiot. I’ve gotta talk with Ryan about fog machines and fire hazards.”   
  
“He doing that  _‘go hard or go home’_  thing again?” You joke fondly, mind wandering to the mischievous glint that would always sparkle in his eyes; Trevor affirming your suspicion before you could even finish your sentence. You sigh, smiling affectionately at a man who had quickly become one of your closest friends during the dark period after Gareth, “what would we do without you laying down the fire code?”  
  
“You’d probably have eaten each other by now, if I were to guess,” he teases, quickly bidding Alfredo and Jack goodbye before following Geoff and yourself to the right of the foyer, Geoff’s mustache twitching in amusement; “you’re not wrong.”   
  
“Err, I never am?”  
  
“But what about that time with the marshmallows?” His eyes go wide, face wiped free of emotion.  
  
“We don’t talk about that.”  


You’re laughing as you push open the next door, sound catching in your throat and falling to the floor once the room comes into view. Before you can react you’re slipping across the tiled surface and landing with a painful bump, mind unable to keep up with the world tumbling around you. Confused you lift your hand to your head, fingers slick with red; liquid seeping into your trackies with a sticky nauseating warmth. Trevor slides to your side, concern furrowing his brows while you take in the pool of blood shining in the lights. “You alright?” He starts leaning down to help you up only to topple over himself, clattering to the floor with the crunch of his elbows. If you weren’t so disgusted by the smell you’d laugh, but instead the putrid stench of rotting flesh churned in your stomach and burned your nose. “I think so,” you reply while trying to stand, unsteady as Trevor follows your lead, the two of you using each other to shuffle to your feet.  


“You guys need to watch where you’re going,” chuckles Geoff, inching his way carefully into the room by gripping onto the walls.  
  
“This doesn’t exactly seem safe” frowns Trevor, skidding into the centre of the kitchen before looking around. Completely white bar the metal appliances, the walls, ceiling, and floor are splattered with blood and bio matter that viscerally glug between the tile grout. Hunks of meat pile in the corners and scatter along the counter tops, the sound of flies incessant from the speakers and gnawing on the hair rising across your neck. It isn’t the wicked sharp buzz saw that adorns the back counter that catches your attention, half a human carcass slapped against it ready for dividing; nor is it the utensils and instruments mid mutilation of organs, dissections clumsy and rough. Instead it’s the prep station set up on the centre island. The white marble slab drips blood like a gruesome water feature, puddles shifting in the lights that are far too bright, glaring down and blinding. Atop the bench and marinading in the gore is a mixture of human odds and ends. Finger tips and toe nubs tossed carelessly together with peeled vegetables, parsley garishly garnishing a set of plates overflowing with what you can only describe as an unidentifiable mush.  


With a lurch bile rises in the back of your throat, a sickly cold seeping across your skin and crawling with it. You try to push past the large pots boiling over on the stove, attempt to ignore spice bottles decorating the counter tops. All your thoughts form a terrified plea, fearful eyes darting to Geoff as he stands uncomfortably in the doorway. “Please tell me this isn’t real.” He doesn’t respond immediately, rather suppressing a gag behind his hand at the sight, an unpleasant noise forming in the back of his throat.  
  
“I, err… It’s not real.”   
  
“Now say it like you mean it?” You skid as you round on him, glare losing impact as you slip again to snatch at the fridge handle. The door rips open, guts tumbling to your feet with a wet slap before you’re suddenly shrieking. Back on your hands and knees you’re scampering backwards, bumping into Geoff’s legs and tries to suppress the cowardice shaking through your being. His eyes are wide, taking it all in with a shudder he has no need to hide, “It’s not real from what I know. I don’t indiscriminately murder. But, err; I didn’t pick up the supplies.”  


Trevor runs a trembling hand over his white blond hair, clumping it red as he surveys the room with appalled eyes, “who’s is this?”   
  
“This is my station,” admits Geoff sheepishly, mustache twitching under the astonishment dancing with the disgust. Trevor’s wide eyes turn on the tattooed man, bewildered and accusing. “This is a fucking hazard,” he determines, and Geoff pulls a face, an irritated clip forming in the back of his throat.  
  
“Jesus, who anointed you the safety police?”  
  
“You did, Geoff.”  
  
“Oh yeah.”  


You can barely hear the pair over the pounding in your ears, using all of your strength to force back the images the room was trying to drag up. It had been months since you’d seen such a raw and blatant disarray of violence and torment; having avoided it at all costs after the torture of Garry and brutal murder of Gareth. The Cheshire had made life difficult, the first month after the ordeal seeing you revert back to the angry, uncontrollable force of destruction you’d feared; the woman more than capable of killing whoever stood in her way during a fit of rage. You couldn’t risk a relapse, meaning you’d done all that you possibly could to stay out of interrogations and kept to the cleanest methods possible in an attempt to suppress the Cheshire’s twisted enjoyment. Now sitting in a pool of blood surrounded by the trinkets adorning her world you can’t escape the pains of fear as they pang in your chest, mind flooding with memories that left you panicked and tight.  


“Okay, so if we could just clean this mess up?” continues Trevor over the anxiety attack you were trying to fight, hearing his words swim between the numbers you were counting down; “people need to be able to run screaming. Not make a pile by the exit.” Geoff offers a defeated sigh as you shift to reciting your 7 times tables, the taste of iron rushing in your mouth as you gnaw the inside of your cheek, “alright, I’ll minimise it. But I didn’t do all of this,” he gestures to the horror show coaxing your unease “you can blame Lindsay.”   
  
“I will blame Lindsay,” you spit with stubborn eyes, refusing to look away from the white patch of ceiling you’d found to focus on, “I’ve soaked up most of the fucking set.”  
  
“Exactly!” Geoff retorts in triumph, Trevor rolling his eyes and looking extremely uncomfortable.  
  
“Just do your camera thing and let’s… keep moving. My clothes are starting to stiffen. I’m not gonna be able to walk by the end of this.”  


You were thankful that the conversation was coming to an end so that you could leave, your breathing having become shaky and difficult to hide. You’d rather the crew didn’t know of the anxieties you housed towards gore and the key it possessed to the Cheshire’s cage; preferring to keep such private vulnerability to yourself and the small, closely knit group of men constantly by your side. Somehow Ray had already figured out your fear before it occurred, Jeremy quickly catching on after the first instance you entered the interrogation after the Gareth ordeal; the fight to stay in control catching you off guard as the Cheshire reared and refused to back down. As Jeremy clamped your favourite wire strippers around a man’s fingers the room started to spin, mind screaming throughout Cheshire’s cold smiles as they laced with the hours you were captive in your own body. Ryan had witnessed your struggles from behind the glass, sharing the memories that burnt a foul taste in his mouth and left his throat thick; angry yells amidst pacing running ruts of emotion into the room. Jon had finally smashed his cyber against the glass window once Geoff had left unaware, the sound enough to shatter through the Cheshire’s vice grip and leave you sobbing over the body you’d mutilated.  


You stand quickly and snatch the bag Jeremy had tasked you with delivering, not needing to be asked twice. Rushing out of the room you slide across the floor, feet kicking open the door in a smooth motion to greet the fresh air gladly. Gasping and heaving out of sight of the two men slipping over one another you press your palms against your eyes, desperately trying to wipe away the images that clawed at your sanity; Cheshire looming dangerously just below the surface, her nails scratching beneath your skin.  


You don’t notice the water logging down the carpet until it releases like a sponge beneath your feet. The gentle trickling comes next, tracing the walls with soggy wallpaper and beading across the ceiling; sagging beneath the weight. Though the hallway was only short and intended to join two horrors together, it still played havoc with the tightness in chest. Steady drips pooling uneasily in your stomach, humidity unbearable and drowning your lungs.  


You can’t tear your eyes away from the water pooling out from under the next door; acutely aware of Geoff and Trevor joining you, their faces sharing your own mask of shock and welling concern. Fear rocks through you as a deep sorrowful bellow greets your first step forward; layers of mourning and loss cascading together and resonating painfully in your bones. Geoff flinches into the blond, the pair wrapping their arms around each other in defense while they keep pace from behind. You try to ignore the sight if blood clotting and cracking through the creases of your hand when you reach for the handle, nails caked and shirt sleeves stained. Apprehension catches in your throat as another inhuman moan as deep as a whale’s call shakes through the handle and fizzes against your finger tips.  


The gasp of an airlock has you jumping back against the two men, door swinging open to funnel a rush of water into the hallway, debris catching in the carpet. It’s not long before your feet are submerged and tangled in seaweed. Though the expanse is dark as night the soft tinge of green encases the lonely and weighted atmosphere. Water ripples with no end, haunting greens bouncing off its surface to reflect over your skin. The room is far larger than any you remember constructing, your eyes able to make out crumbling concrete walls submerged in the water. The occasional beam of light illuminates the room and dances with dust to fracturing through the shallows, a cracked and decaying lighthouse almost entirely buried beneath the watery tomb.  


“Alright kids,” claps Trevor, fishing out a clear plastic bag and holding it open, “hand in your phones.” With little resistance you’re slipping your technological lifeline into his grasp, Geoff doing the same. “Why do you have this?” Your question is met with a nonchalant shrug, the blond zipping up the bag and sliding it into his backpack along with the camera’s Geoff had been tasked to hand out. “I’m always prepared.”  
  
“Oh god, it’s a sandwich bag from lunch,” notices Geoff, jabbing a finger at the small scrawl of Trevor’s name in the bottom right corner. “Did your Mom pack your food today?” Geoff giggles, face brightening while Trevor’s remains smooth and serious; amusement dancing in the darkness of his eyes. “Please stop asking me questions I can’t give you the answer too.”  


Turning the attention back to the room, you’d long since concluded that volunteering to check the attractions was one of the worst decisions you’d ever made. You were only 3 rooms deep and facing your forth horror; knowing there were still another 2 to get through. Your chest tightens at the thought, already having had enough for one day. Intense stress and adrenaline wasn’t something your body coped with anymore, and you’d much prefer turning back. But you were stuck, no escape without pushing through the mysterious waters or retreating into the human slaughterhouse.  


“Ladies first,” offers Trevor from behind, voice shaking you back to reality while he peers over your shoulder to survey the depths. You turn to him in refusal and point a finger to Geoff – who panics and shakes his head frantically. “You heard the man,” you push, snatching Geoff’s wrist and dethatching him from the blond whose face is overwhelmed with relief; “ladies first.” Resisting Geoff enters the water, its surface lapping against his hips while he whines; another rumbling moan ricocheting across the space and chasing through the shallows. Still he wades forward, nervous trembling hums vibrating from his lips to patter into the water swelling around his movements. Elbows up and hands shielding his face, Geoff only hoped that whatever monster lurked in the depths would spare him.  


Following his lead you sink into the water, waist disappearing into the pool before you’re floating in the swell; floor recoiling away from you into nothingness. Trevor apprehensively joins you, accepting the reassuring hand offered to him above the water; mirroring Geoff’s raised elbows. Clinging to one another you wade after your boss, mournful wails catching around your knees and forcing through the fabric plastered against your skin. Despite the fear bogging you down you can’t deny the relief coursing through as the blood washes away, cleansing your body of the Cheshire while she retreats back to the cage you’d built.  


A shriek from Geoff halts your scan and search of the water, his body flailing back towards you in a fountain of frantic splashes. “Something grabbed me! Oh my god, oh god it  _touched_  me!“   
  
"Geoff,” you fret, releasing Trevor’s hand to haul the boss comfortingly close; his arms winding around your waist while he cowers into your side. Trembles ripple tauntingly across the surface before something surges forward suddenly with a vicious roar, rushing straight towards you. You don’t think, instead forcing Geoff and Trevor back in with a spin before you crouch beneath the water. Blinded and ears logged you launch forward to cut through the heavy darkness like a bullet through the air, body connecting with the creature and arms clenching around it. Treading water your feet find the floor, bounding upwards to drag it to burst through the surface; catapulting into the open space. A curving back directs your feet to collide against its firm body, falling back from a kick that sees it squealing away.  


“Wait, Gavin?!” Trevor’s exclamation snaps some sense into you, the fear dictating your movements ebbing away to be replaced with confusion; eyes scanning the water you’d flung your friend into. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” you groan, the sound of Michael’s laughter now booming against the walls, Lindsay and Meg’s cackling quickly joining in. Splashing forward you struggle with the current swelling through your clothes, bogged down as you pass Michael in his swimming trunks and gripping a rubber ring. “Oh my god,” he gasps through his tears as you push him impatiently aside, “this is fucking incredible!” Geoff mirrors his sentiment, giggling uncontrollably while Trevor stands in the centre of the room; shock and amusement leaving his mouth hanging open and head shaking slowly. “But what if I killed him?” You panic while searching the depths, following the dull bird noises emanating from the pool. “I certainly hope so,” muses Trevor teasingly, finally regaining control of his body and paddling over to Lindsay, of who offers him a drink from the cooler stashed inside of the light house. Michael remains unfazed, clambering into the ring and floating lazily through the room. “Nah,” he smiles while waving away your words, “he had it comin’.”  


An incredibly loud gasp from behind has you reeling, lashing out a fist and punching the offender without thought. As soon as you realise you retract your hand, staring at Gavin as he clutches his nose and complains through his laughs. “You fucking asshole,” you seethe, jabbing him in the chest only for him to dissolve into more giggles; Meg yelling out your point score from across the way while drifting on a floaty. Gavin simply shrugs, collecting his beer from Michael without a care in the world. Sloshing to your left Trevor makes his way over, a beam splitting across his face. “You’re lucky we have that weapons ban tonight, Gav,” he scolds, draping an arm across your shoulder and leaning in to point to your face, “she’d have stabbed your ass so hard.”   
  
“I would have,” you admit, “you wouldn’t sit for a week.”  
  
“He already doesn’t sit” pipes in Geoff, swaying through the water and dragging Lindsay and Meg on their floaty towards the conversation cheerfully, “I make sure of that.”  


“Hello everybody, yes yes please take your seats. Welcome to the Team Nice Dynamite-”  
  
“and Free Willy, don’t forget about us,” interjects Lindsay, Michael waving away her words before shooting her an affectionate beam and continuing.  
  
“Nice Willy… err, Free Dynamite… Dynamite Willy – look what matters isn’t that we don’t have a team name. What matters is that we combined our rooms to make this!” Michael gestures wide and proud to the space, the green glow seeping into his skin and dusting the tops of the water.  
  
“It’s pretty cool,” you admit, hand going to your hair to push it back, Trevor bouncing beside you.  
  
“Are you kidding?” He squeaks in amazement, peering around now that he’s safe, “this is awesome.”  
   
“Aww, thank you,” smiles Meg warmly, sliding into the water to join you on the right, thumb coming to rest on your cheek while she rubs away the running make up.  


“I can’t believe you got all this done without anyone knowing.”  
  
Lindsay cheers victoriously at your statement, hair as pink as bubblegum, “everyone loves surprises.”  
  
“Except when stupid British assholes grab you,” you retort with a half hearted glare at the offender, who’s eyes narrow.  
  
“Or when a pisspot tries to drown you.” You frown at Gavin, eyes forming slits as he shifts uncomfortably in the realisation you’d heard him,  
  
“what did you just call me?”   
  
“Nothing,” he squeaks while scooting away from your icy gaze, hand plunging back into the water to search for the bag Jeremy had given you, hoping it had remained intact.

  
“Alright, alright!” Geoff gestures sharp and dramatically, “as much as I love getting fucked by my friends my balls are starting to chafe; I’d really like to get moving.” Fingers clasping the fabric you haul it from the depths and toss it to Michael – of who falls off the floaty with a yell. “I don’t know what’s happening here,” Geoff’s hand sweeps the space before beckoning Trevor to follow his sways through the water “but I want nothing to do with it. Good job, blah, blah, and keep me outta it. Also!” He reels, jabbing a finger at Lindsay while Michael opens the bag to pull out a large dry ice container, the cold stinging his fingers. Geoff’s eyes narrow as he reaches the exit to let you pull yourself up first, wringing out your clothes. “What did you do to my room?” Lindsay shrugs innocently, as though the man’s words weren’t scornful accusations.  
  
“I did exactly what you told me to do. Go big or go home. I err, also solved our gang problem for the time being.”

  
“Err, hey guys?” Everyone whips round to stare at Alfredo as he stands at the edge of the room, arms filled with equipment and ropes. His eyes are pleading, the soft pout of his lips jutting out in confusion. “How and I suppose to put up Cheshire’s supports with all this water?” Gavin wastes no time in pushing one of the sturdier floats over to the entrance, Alfredo refusing loudly while Trevor paddles over to assist; the remainder of the room joining to hold the float steady. “No, this is not okay.”  
“You’ll be fine,” disregards Michael, throwing you a sniggering beam and motioning for you to keep moving.  
  
“You guys go ahead,” Trevor mirrors as Alfredo gingerly places a foot onto the precarious platform before wobbling and toppling to his knees, waves rocking against your shoulders; “I’ll catch up with you.”   
  
“You heard the boss,” claps Geoff against your back, forcing your eyes away from the man now shaking unsteadily to his feet, staring up in bewilderment at the beams he was supposed to be working with. Now behind you Gavin’s bright idea can be heard taking him under the floaty and pushing upwards to launch an unready Alfredo into the air; arms managing to snag onto a support platform. You’re laughing at the sound of his demand for someone to turn the lights on, gesturing for Geoff to follow you up and out of the room.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the horror tour draws to a close, all that’s left are the last minute calls and costumes for the Fake AH Crew. The big night’s only a few hours away, and prep time’s dwindling at an alarming rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr under the same name, to keep up to date on polls, processes and get the fics first!
> 
> http://fics4you.tumblr.com/

 

The next room is surprisingly comfortable, a subtle breeze whispering through the dense trees to ease the nagging anxieties of the past few horrors. At its touch the tension fades from your shoulders, rolling from your being with each gentle breath. Encased in black as ash tree trunks the world towers above, looming to shield the gentle croaks of ravens. The slopes are coated in grass that sways around your ankles, sticking to the moisture beading across your body and sprawling off into the distance. Though it’s incredibly dark, small pinpricks of light drift through the foliage and bring with it the faint smells of moss; thick and fragment. Each step further in sees your feet sinking into the damp earth, socks squelching and water pooling between your toes. In the distance hangs a lantern dotted against a tree, flame flickering dimly behind the smudged glass, begging for company.

 

Instinctively you wander towards it, growing aware of Geoff’s discomfort; a stark contrast to the relaxation engulfing you. Being trapped within trees was never terrifying; on the contrary you found it comforting. The isolation within their embrace something you’d once sought, always finding a way back to the foliage whenever Cheshire needed to be alone – away from civilization and destructive temptations. For Geoff the room provided a different story; one more claustrophobic and threatening. The trees stood like soldiers, broad shouldered and stubbornly unmoving. Darkness cloaked the room, stealing away what little vision he had. Leaving him blind. No comfort comes from the mournful dull croaks and battering of wings, each rustle pushing him closer to the edge of anxiety; body ready to dive into the depths of panic.

 

He sticks close, every noise that you’d grown accustomed to making him jump, hand snatching at your wrist for reassurance before he catches himself. Vehemently forcing the fear down; allowing it to wallow in his chest as his ears hum with numbness at every dull sound. He tries to ignore to the gentle throbbing of blue lights working through the fabric of your trackies, eerie with each movement rustling through the wicked long grass. Wind whips through his saturated dress shirt, freezing the curling narrative tattooed across his body; teeth chattering in time with his heart.

 

Finally reaching the lantern in an eternity for Geoff and mere seconds for you; it clatters joyfully in your grasp. Raising it higher you peer through the dense trees, struggling to see and escape – or even a wall. Whoever had dedicated their time to the room had gone above and beyond. A shrug to Geoff see’s him shudder and shuffler, chilled in the night’s air while you wander towards the closest tree to rest a palm against its trunk. You can’t help but admire its strength, breathing beneath your fingers as Geoff mutters reservations about waiting for Trevor and Alfredo. Your eyes roll with a gentle chuckle as light as the breeze, carelessly exploring the forest and breathing the drunken atmosphere.

 

You’re too enraptured in the space to notice where you’re stepping, trap snapping around your left calf and cushioning the cyber neatly within its teeth. Not noticing in time your momentum continues, body toppling and lantern rolling from your fingers while you swear bitterly. “Oh shit,” Geoff’s on his knees in an instant as you turn over to look curiously at your leg, admiring the handiwork. The contraption ensuring both safety and an inescapable grip. “Are you alright?” You wave Geoff off, watching him settle on his haunches as you study the bear trap, footsteps falling with muffled thuds. “Where in the dickens are you guys?” Trevor calls; voice faint as it drifts from the unknown to accompany Alfredo’s yells. “Over here, head right from the door!” Your reply is met with confusion, Alfredo’s voice tinted with warranted concern. “Cool, no problem. Do you know where the door is?” You look to Geoff, urging him to find the courage to brave the forest alone.

 

He only moves when the sound of a scuffle breaks out, panic yelps and swears resonating from the trees. “Are you going to be okay?”   
“I’ll be fine,” you assure, bending towards the trap, “this is going to take me a while anyway.” Geoff nods, casting one last glance before shaking, anxious hums reverberating in the back of his throat and tickling his lips. You gesture to the upturned lantern, hoping it would provide some form of comfort. “Take that, I’ve got enough light.” He doesn’t need to be prompted twice, scampering frantically across the grass to scoop up the lantern, hugging it to his chest with fear in his eyes. “You’ll be fine, Pops,” you smile, filling him with a false sense of confidence; “go save the kids.”

 

And then he’s running into the darkness, stumbling over his feet until he disappears along with his calls. All that’s left is silence and the gentle rustle of leaves from above. The space shifts to tranquillity, body shivering in the water still clinging to your clothes, an entrancing fog slowly rolling towards you. Doused in the faint blues of the cybernetic you tinker with the trap, leg rattling inside the rusted cage. As your fingers work with the latch your vision’s soon blinded with thick clouds of white, smell burning and clogging your lungs. Blinded and so close to freedom you throw your leg angrily, chain rattling in ominous rings. The reply greeting it sets your teeth on edge, body running cold as the earth steals your warmth to shroud from the aggressive whirl slicing through the trees.

 

You’re clawing desperately at the binds now, roaring of machinery growing closer with the heavy and smooth footsteps charging through the space. You don’t see the 3 men exploding out of the tree line until Trevor’s panicked yells grind, Alfredo shrieking and clambering over Geoff as he falls. Fear stricken the boss looks pleadingly up at rest bolting for their lives, Alfredo skidding to a stop. Throwing an alarmed glance to the blond scampering behind you to help with the metal teeth, Trevor advises to cut his losses and keep running. “Just leave him!” Trevor cries, fingers bumping uselessly against the trap as manic laughter drifts on the incessant, violent buzzing.   
“I can’t,” wails Alfredo, turning to help up Geoff, “he pays me!”

 

The two men manage to haul themselves to their feet just as the dark figure bursts from between the guarding trees, chainsaw raised and rattling in hand. An almighty shriek sees Alfredo launching backwards, crawling away before turning and bolting after Geoff – the two desperate to reach you and Trevor. “So, err,” the shining blond looks at you apologetically, panic clearly defined in the worry lines creasing his forehead. “Don’t you dare sacrifice me,” you growl, watching as he backs away from the quickly advancing threat. “It’s nothing personal. Really, I’m living on in your memory.” Then he’s gone, darting between the trees with Geoff close behind. Alfredo skids to his knees beside you, disorientated and terrified. Frantically he twists your leg around, looking for some form of purchase to be able to release the trap. You aren’t looking at him, voice fading with his demands of “why doesn’t your leg screw off?!”

 

The man’s large and threatening, looming on the hill’s incline with smoke twirling around his knees and a crack of lightning illuminating the mask; no emotion in the black eyes staring from hocky slits. Another low laugh resinates through the grass to shake beneath the palms you’d planted, his body lowering into a sturdy battle stance. “It won’t come off!” Alfredo’s distress matches his solid attempts to snatch your leg from the trap’s stubborn rusty gears.   
“It’s okay,” you try as the man begins to lurch forward, another crack from the sky sending light rain drizzling to the ground. Alfredo isn’t listening, ignoring your attempts to send him away in favour of standing his ground. You try a second time, placing a hand over his as he tries to pry you free, “really, it’s fine. I-” your words drown in the weapon’s whirling, hunter hurtling forward with the chainsaw angled to kill. Without thought Alfredo lets out a fearful defeated yelp; throwing his arms around your waist and curling into a ball, face hiding in the crook of his elbow and forehead against your stomach.

 

You can’t look away from the hundreds of spinning blades as they charge at you, speeding so fast they were a blur. The mechanism’s screams ringing far louder than the laughter bouncing off the trees. You don’t blink until weapon’s inches from your face, rolling your eyes to stare up at the man towering over, threat and danger conducting his stance. Still, you can see the defeat in his shoulders, a victorious smile curling across your lips. “You’re no fun,” muffles the accusation as the chainsaw powered down, breaking eye contact and move a hand to reassuringly pat Alfredo; rubbing comforting circles into his back. “I’m heaps of fun,” you retaliate, a wisp of sandy blond hair falling free of the tight bun atop his head.

 

“Wait,” Geoff’s voice works its way back to you as the man pulls out of his crouch, waving down the others; “Ryan?” The boss races up, eyes narrow slits as he jabs the killer’s chest, his large form rocking back and forth like a child. “How’d you know it was me?” With a smooth motion your fiancée’s removing his hockey mask to reveal a delighted expression, eyes sparkling and mischievous, lips pulled into an attractive smirk. Even in the faint light you can see the pale scars tracing his jaw, his hair pale as silk in the moonlight. Geoff isn’t attracted to the image, his bottom lip pouting as he hums in irritation. “This is the third time this afternoon you’ve charged me with a chainsaw.” Ryan beams brightly as Alfredo slows his shaking and peers up; still nestled against you in his hiding space. “Aw,” Ryan grins and bats his incredibly long eyelashes, pushing Geoff’s shoulder while the older man swats him away “you remembered.”   
“You nearly severed my arm.”  
“Geoff, I didn’t know you cared.”  
“About my arm?”  
“You still ran like a tiny little baby.” Trevor chuckles at Ryan’s teasing; Geoff continuing to scowl half heartedly.

 

A smile never left Ryan’s face, still grinning with a lightness he’d carried for months. Having thawed since your return to the crew, Ryan had well and truly taken control after the proposal. Never once had he completely slipped into the Vagabond, the bright cheer he carried far outshining the fear he had of a potentially dangerous relapse. Gently you coax Alfredo into a feeling of safety, tensions seeping from his muscles beneath your touch; the man finally unfurling from your side. With a smile down to Alfred –who eventually returns the expression – you turn to the bickering men above you. “Okay you two,” you complain, mocking the adoration Ryan redirects towards you, “break it up or I’m gonna throw up.”

  
“You can’t come in between true love,” sighs Trevor dramatically, clasping his hands together to stare longingly at the pair; of who protest loudly.   
“You just watch me,” you laugh in response, thanking Alfredo as he pulls himself up with blushing cheek to work yet again on the trap ensnaring your leg.   
“My money’s on Cheshire,” he states confidently, the name coursing through your body with a sense of long forgotten familiarity.   
“Y/N.”   
“Pardon?” He glances up to your soft, kind eyes as Ryan joins him, working on the other side of the trap with expert and crooked hands.   
“Please, Chess or Y/N whenever I don’t look murderous.” You’re smiling into his confusion, watching the cogs turn as a large grin peels across his lips, just as cheerful as Jeremy had been the first time you’d met. “Chess or Y/N, got it.”  
“She also answers to asshole,” interjects Geoff with a knowing tone, eyes daring you to protest as Trevor joins in;   
“and Lady Bitch.”  
You let off a defeated sigh, eyes rolling with the shrug of your shoulders, “I can’t even deny it. I also respond to food.”

 

“It’s true,” Ryan chuckles, finally managing to undo the complex latch; contraption springing open with a metallic groan, “if you yell ‘tacos’ I will guarantee she’ll be by your side in second.”   
“It also works for jelly babies,” you add, extending your leg to inspect the small tears the traps teeth had left in your trackie pants, face mirroring the dissatisfied expression dancing across Ryan’s lips. “You’ve been hanging out with Gav for too long.”  
“Nah,” you’re beaming while jumping to stand, rocking on your feet and stretching with joints that pop and creak back into place. “Don’t talk like you didn’t love England when we were there. Besides, they do good sweets.”

  
“I blame your mother,” muses Geoff, moustache twitching in amusement as Ryan clicks up beside you, knees protesting.   
“Don’t go blaming Mama Eve for stuff,” you scold, Geoff holding his hands up in defence.  
“Please don’t tell her I said that,” he pleads “she’ll stop sending me books.” In the middle of his begging he’s responding to Trevor’s persistent nudging by pulling out a few of the remaining cameras and stuffing them into Ryan’s hands; only for them to topple to the floor with the sandy blond staring down at them with an irritated sigh.

 

Bending to scoop them up Ryan vows to tell your Mom, Geoff’s voice fading into uncomfortable hums. You place a commanding hand on Ryan’s shoulder, watching your boss with a wicked smile, “save it. This could be good extortion material.”  
“I’m not going to talk until my lawyer’s present.”  
“Geoff, I am your lawyer,” you point out with an arched eyebrow, Alfredo leaning in front of you to help Ryan while Trevor nods vigorously in confirmation.   
“I didn’t think that through.”   
“Oh no,” Trevor holds up a finger to Geoff, eyes narrowing, “she’s the best we’ve got. Especially after last time.”   
“What happened last time?” Alfredo’s question rises between the blushes, delighting in Ryan’s warm thanks.   
Trevor just shakes his head while Geoff begins fuming, “this jackass fucked me.”   
“We don’t talk about last time,” patches over Trevor, his smoothness leaving something to be desired. Still you can’t help but laugh, knowing Trevor had taken over a few of the larger cases after your untimely death; quickly dropping the responsibility as soon as you remerged.

 

“What we can talk about, however,” Trevor turns to Ryan, of who’s face falls into a comic panic, the man shuffling under the pleasant gaze of the younger, “is smoke machines and fire hazards.”   
“Oh no,” Ryan jams his fingers in his ears while diverting his eyes, resulting in a giggle to ripple through the company, “if I can’t see or hear you, there isn’t a problem.”  
“Oh my god, you’ve just provided a fool proof solution to the world’s problems.”  
“Really?”  
“No you animal, and responding means that you can hear me. So let’s talk about the bills I’ll have to pay if we burn this place to the ground; not to mention the pain you’ll cause Geoff when you inevitably break his heart.”  
“Mmmokay...” Resigned to the telling off he was about to receive Ryan shuffles to stare down at his feet, smiling as he hears you trying to stifle the giggles.

 

“We’ll leave you to it,” chuckles Geoff, patting Ryan reassuringly on the arm, “he’s already chewed me out.”  
“What did you do this time?”  
“Too much blood.”   
“There’s no such thing.”  
“That’s what I said!” In between Geoff’s outcry Ryan’s crystal eyes shift to you sympathetically, knowing you’d endured the extensive gore that left him shuddering. A tight smile is all that presses against your lips, confirming his suspicions and accepting what little comfort you could. You weren’t looking forward to the slaughterhouse, only hoping that there would be a white piece of wall to stare at until it was all over. “We’ve only got one more room to go,” you note while placing a gentle hand in Ryan’s, reaching up to peck him on the forehead, “see you on the other side.” With a rueful smile he lets you go, watching with soft eyes as you follow Geoff and Alfredo; leaving him as the darkness recedes.

 

“I dunno, Bud, can you ever really have too many?”  
“I err, yeah you can. That’s fucking weird, Jeremy. Jesus.”

The next room leaves you as confused as the conversation drifting beneath the door shrouded in forest remnants. Barren bar the cracks of the warehouse walls, the floor as plain and scuffed as it always had. White footprints trace the surface, paint mimicking the directions you’d wobbled when constructing the addition. Even the windows were lacklustre, simplistic and pristine without a cobweb in sight. The lonely table at the edge of the room was the only object occupying the space, out of place and begging for attention beneath the holey black sheet. Its surface littered with candy wrappers and bowls of lollies, along with stacks of what appeared to be party bags; brimming with sticky hands, glow in the dark skulls and pencil sharpeners. Even the smell was disinteresting, dusty and cold like the air pressing against the window glass. Only the sweetness of sugar drifts to you, failing to encourage any form of response.

 

Though the luminescent blub flickered above your head to splutter excuses, nothing screamed discomfort or terror. Stepping further in you can’t hold the disappointment colouring your cheeks with each echo of your shoes hitting the cold floor, glancing quickly to Geoff’s defeated stance. Alfredo seems positive, as if expecting the next horror to be just around the corner; though it doesn’t come. At the sound of your entrance Ray and Jeremy jump, whirling round to face you and unable to hide their guilty eyes. You don’t pay much attention to the brightly coloured man. Instead you’re staring accusingly at Ray while he stands in the centre, the only effort he seemed to have made being the black hoodie with a skeleton printed on its front.

 

Slowly he raises his arms wide and proud beneath your disappointment, skin ashy in the light. Jeremy approaches the group with a serious expression, attempting to escape the wrath searing inside Geoff; only to be caught by your firm hand. Eyes like daggers you’re holding him in place, a small worried  _‘hap hap’_  slipping from his lips while you swing him back to the offending friend. A stern finger keeps him in place, bewildered that he’d have been involved in Ray’s sabotage.

 

Before you can hurl the insult bubbling on the tip of your tongue Ray holds up his fingers, Geoff fuming and blatantly ignoring him. “You fucking fuck,” he growls, casting a sweeping gesture to the painfully empty room. “I put so much fucking work into this house and you’re just sat here with your thumb up your ass!” Ray remains unfazed by the anger, arms still in the air and fingers calling for silence. Quickly he peeks to the watch on his wrist, a smile splitting across his face. “Wait for it.”  
“Wait for what?!” Geoff begins to turn pink as he rattles through the space, Jeremy shrinking away from the rage threatening to explode. Placing a warning and sympathetic hand on Geoff’s arm he shrugs you away, glaring hard at the two men before him.

 

“We worked so hard, and he’s just being an asshole. Ray you knew how important this was-” but Geoff’s sentence hangs in the air while his words are cut with an almighty, off key trumpet shriek. All at once the main light goes out to be replaced with flashes of colourful glows, throbbing against the walls and crawling into the cracks. The rattling of bones plunges from the ceiling, darting from the corners and false walls as skeletons surround you, dancing jovially. Some clutch trumpets, fingers plastered to the instrument with duct tape, while others sport wonky sunglasses that threaten to fall off with every jig as confetti rains down from the ceiling.

 

Despite the utter ridiculousness of the situation the sudden onslaught startles you, a bony hand slapping against your shoulder to send you hurtling forward. Smashing into Jeremy, the two of you topple, his arms wrapping around you to soften the crash into the concrete. The momentum shakes against Ray, your decent knocking him over like a domino, a sharp chuckle morphing into a yelp as his elbows smack to the floor and catch his fall. Around you Alfredo cackles and yelps as the flailing limbs and flashing colours, confused as to whether he should really enjoy being this terrified of a marching skeleton band. Geoff’s initial wails of fear had merged with the trumpets before he sank in fits of giggles; clearly enjoying the display. Disorientated, overwhelmed and lying on top of Jeremy – who seems as equally surprised as you by the contact –the ringing music bounces painfully as the skeleton’s finally finish their song, left to swing uselessly on their strings.

 

The light comes back on after a moment and you’re left staring down at Jeremy, a mixture of admiration and frustration lingering in your smile. Beneath you his body warms, the blush dusting his cheeks giving him away as his molten chestnut eyes lock on your own. As the chaos settles so does his heartbeat; your closeness having sent it sprinting in circles. It’s not long until he’s beaming back up at you, eyes forever filled with warming comfort. “You alright there?” His smile’s teasing; but you know he was genuinely checking in. The bright man having dedicated his free time to helping you overcome the nightmares left stinging from Garry, sharing your fears and haunting the same hours you had over the past few months. You nod and groan as you manoeuvre off of him, accepting Alfredo’s hand as he steadies you. With a thankful smile, Geoff hauls Ray on to his feet over the top of Jeremy bouncing up, lips pressed into an apologetic line while he dusts off the younger man. “I, err...” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, his forehead creasing, “sorry I called you an asshole.”  
“Nah, it’s alright,” Ray shrugs, moving to stuff the skeletons away before the next time mechanism would see them springing forward, “I’m an asshole.”  

 

Wandering through the space you admire his work, the false walls and ceiling so realistic you’d never had notice them if you hadn’t been assaulted by walking memes. Ray forcefully shoves away the rest of his supplies as you make your way to the candy bar, freely picking at the selection while the rest were trapped in distractions. It’s not long before Alfredo catches on, holding open his hoodie pocket for you to pour the brightly coloured candy into; two of you whistling and walk away. “So,” Ray starts conversationally while dusting his hands on the back of his jeans, a vague gesture passing over Alfredo, “who the fuck is this?”

 

Letting out a noisy breath the man beside you relaxes, lips pulling into a wide and cheerful grin. “My favourite,” you tell Ray in a matter of fact tone, linking arms with the Sauce and angling to hide the foil wrappers poking from his clothing. He doesn’t seem to care that he could be caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his face lighting in pure delight as he throws an excited glance to Jeremy. “I’m her favourite!”

“Good job, pal,” he sniggers in response, greatly amused by Ray’s open mouth and accusing eyes.   
“He can’t be your favourite,” he rejects scornfully, a dramatic sweep pushing your words aside.   
“Oh?” You shift under his gaze, skilfully jamming the wrappers out of sight and eyeing Alfredo’s empty hood, “and why’s that?”  
“Because I’m your favourite!” Ray implores, looking hurt as you dethatch from Alfredo, arms open wide in an apology while backing away.

 

“I can have multiple favourites,” you defend, Ray dropping his head with a groan, feet kicking with a mumble of   
“it’s just not the same.” While their backs are turned you swiftly snatch the bowl, tipping the contents into Alfredo’s hood before returning the empty container to the table. Now sufficiently weighted down your partner in crime presses his back to the wall; hands deep in his pockets to muffle the rustling of wrappers while you lay your hat over his brimming hood. “We can argue about whose Y/N’s favourite later,” reassures Geoff impatiently, ignoring Alfredo’s interjection that he’d win to continue pressing the remaining cameras into Ray’s hands. “Right now we’ve got to get to hair and makeup.”

 

“Geoff’s right,” you confirm, side stepping in time with Alfredo towards the exit, “we should probably go right now.”   
“We’ll, err... see you there and stuff,” nods Alfredo, vigorously supporting you while your hands open the final door leading to the parking lot, cool breeze chilling your still damp clothes. “Yeah, what he said.” With that the two of you are out the door, hearing it slam shut before you’re jogging away in giggles. A high five seals your first heist with Alfredo before pulling into an empty room to divide the loot and indulge in enough candy that you could call the experience a raging regret at 2 in the morning; when you couldn’t sleep with a brain too high on sugar.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jack, this is ridiculous,” you grumble into the hand you’re steadying against Michael’s face, paintbrush expertly bruising the gouge you’d created around his cheek; blues and purples blooming across the glistening wound. Jack shifts her weight behind you, watching the progress. You cast a quick glance up while collecting the wire hook. “If you really think about it,” starts Jack, her voice dragging while she tries to seem convincing, your fingers carefully positioning the hook against the wound and a second piece out of his mouth. “You aren’t setting yourself on fire.” Building up the scar wax you curse while it refuses to cooperate; sticking to your fingers until you’ve formed a reasonable mould to hold the wire in place.

 

Jack persists, handing over the scab blood you’re motioning to; “okay, but here me out here. It technically won’t hurt me for the first 40 seconds.”  
“Jack, no!”   
“But Y/N...” Ignoring the intimidating woman you call for Gavin, of who materialises behind Michael; skin tinted with blues, purples and greens, a similar hook protruding from his nose. You beckon him to the chair he plops into, eager glances shared between the men. “Jack, for the last time, I’m not being held responsible for you burning alive. It’s not fun.” Leaning down you produce a small metal instrument before diving into the jar, drawing out thick chunks of coagulated blood and smearing it throughout their wounds, directing it’s dripping path over their chins to seep into the pristine dress shirts.

 

“Let the woman have her fun, would you?” Geoff’s voice grates against your concentration, his smiling face popping into view between Gavin and Michael’s shoulders before coming to stand beside Jack; her eyes alight and hopeful. You let off a noisy, irritated sigh while finishing up and moving onto their hands, tracing the veins with bruises and the colours of death; boys visibly shaking in excitement. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Geoff. You know how bad fire is.” The older man tenses, flames tickling beneath his tattoos at the memory of the jet, ears clogging with the roaring heat. “Which is why we’ll be careful,” he stumbles with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes; a familiar smile you’d wear whenever the flames lapped your ankles, “I trust Jack with my life.”  
“But do you trust her with hers?” Rather than acknowledging the question you turn to the molluscs; carefully arranging them across the left side of Michael’s forehead and along his neck, scolding him for being unable to hold still. Gavin does a much better job, holding ramrod straight as you glue down the hand crafted objects, tracing his jaw line and the sharp arch of his eyebrow while Michael stands to finish his costume with a sloppy bowtie.

 

“There,” you grin, placing down the supplies and studying the two men in front of you, their skin the colour of corpses and crisscrossed with deep throbbing veins, pair appearing as though they’d been trapped beneath the ocean for years; “put these in and you’ll be good to go.” You hand over the small box of contacts and gesture towards one of the empty stations, the two jostling and heading off. Finally you address Jack and Geoff, each looking as equally hopeful and nervous beneath your viciously disapproving gaze. “Fine, but I don’t want anyone dying on my set,” you state firmly, both nodding in agreement before Jack lets an excited yell, running to collect supplies before getting into costume. Geoff offers an apologetic smile, but you aren’t finished; instead jabbing a stern finger. “I don’t want fire anywhere near me, got it? And that goes for guts, or anyone trying to mess with me. I’m not doing it tonight, not if you want a good walkthrough.”

 

The older man settles his shoulders, understanding at the mention of flames; his own dancing within his mind. “Got it, I’ll keep the flames away from you if you return the favour.”   
“I can do that,” you confirm, watching as he absentmindedly brings his fingers against the hearing aid nestled in his right ear, twirling the wires. Biting your lip, you venture into a territory you’d generally tried to avoid considering, knowing how sensitive the losses of immortality could be. Your amputation still gave you troubles, phantoms pains and an unequivocal sense of self loathing on the worst of days; but nothing compared to nearly losing your sense of hearing. And yet Geoff took it in his stride, working as though nothing were wrong for the first few months until you’d cornered him; his inability to hear Ray’s underhand comments being extremely out of character.

 

You weren’t about to let him suffer the way you had, pushing him to seek help. That week you’d sent Jack with him to the audio clinic; a brighter Geoff returning and glowing with hope. In the coming weeks he’d started bouncing, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the devices that promised some gateway into hearing again. He’d cried when Jack’s voice broke through, reintroduced to the subtle roll of her words and the singing behind her notes. Nearly half a year on he wore one of the devices, his hearing having slowly recovered; but nothing would drown out the flames you shared. You always wondered if his roared as loud, or whether he could hear the crew screaming through the heat.

 

Geoff retracts his hand as the warehouse door opens, his eyes darting off to avoid your concern. Following his gaze you smile as Ray, Jeremy and Jon enter the space ready for their briefing. “So, what’s the cover up again?” Jon’s voice is timid and apologetic when he finally pulls up, hair wild but eyes clouded in concern; though Ray pays no notice to the fact Jon had asked the question four times prior. Instead he pulls a set of palm sized flash cards from the depths of his skeleton hoodie, handing them to your nervous brother with a reassuring smile. “Here, I wrote it all down. My handwriting’s utter ass, but I tried to suck less.” Your heart tugs at the relief washing over Jon, eyes returning to their bright mesmerising blue. “Thanks, this means a lot. I err; I’m trying to get better at this memory shit.” He quickly flips through the cards with a nod to each, Jeremy coming to stand in front of you with pleading eyes; his costumes mechanical arms slipping from his waist. Rolling your eyes you kneel, working on the supports and tightening them while ignoring his protests of it pinching.  

 

“How much are you charging for entry?” asks Jon, turning the cards and racking his brain; scolding himself for forgetting. You smile patiently up at him, snagging a pen off one of the nearby stations and taking a card, jotting it down and handing it back. “Sorry.”   
“Don’t be sorry, Jon. It’s not your fault, no one minds you having to ask a few times.” Standing and spinning Jeremy you cast a critical eye across his costume, cloaked entirely in black bar the remote controlled additional arms, jutting out from his torso like spider legs. “I just feel bad for not keeping up,” complains Jon, shuffling uncomfortably as you collect some contacts from the stack you’d carted around on the service trolley. “Jon, you’re doing amazing. You came back from the dead, no one cares that you have a memory problem.” You rattle the box at Jeremy, who snatches at the red glow-in-the-dark contacts, bouncing with a gasp and rushing away, “all we care about is the fact you’re still here.”  
“I care about my memory problems. I can’t even remember if I’ve locked my doors most nights.”

 

“It’s okay Jon,” comforts Ray, his hand resting on your brother’s back, “we’re here for you. You’re a natural.” You watch your brother, able to see the large leaps and bounds he’d taken since the ordeal. He didn’t share the sentiment, struggling to remember the simple things. He’d go days without eating or drinking, forgetting how long it had been. He couldn’t remember the names of new crew members, couldn’t recall his therapist. Every day became a routine, fearful of forgetting how to live. Each phone call started with a question, had he already called today? Had he taken his pills? Did he have to be anywhere? He lived on palm cards and post it notes, only able to make it through his career through the teleprompters. An adventurer forced to give up the world and explore the deep confines of his mind. But you knew; you could see the pain. You could see the panic in the scrawling instructions plastered to the fridge, the kettle, the front door. He was losing himself, little by little until all that was left were scribbles on crumpled paper.

 

You manage to smile, Jeremy returning and blinking frantically through the bright red contacts. “Now that’s freaky,” Jon quips, titling the young man’s face up to peer into his, Jeremy’s cheeks warming with the sound of his protests, “there’s cat hair under the right one.”   
“Argh, crap. I knew it shouldn’t itch this bad!” Swiping at his eyes Jeremy rubs, Jon looking offended and snatching his hands away.   
“don’t rub your eyes with contacts in you idiot, that’s how you go blind!” You’re laughing at Jeremy’s fearful face before you can stop, his eyebrows furrowing and mouth hanging agape. Jon grabs his wrist and hauls him to the nearest bathroom, scolding the young man before disappearing behind the door.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you chuckle, hearing the yells of disdain and retaliation as Jon inevitably tries to remove the contact Jeremy was too afraid of; Ray staring at the door in amazement. “Those damn arms have been nothing but trouble,” he muses, unconsciously rubbing the large scratch across his neck in recollection, eyes tearing away to look at you. “I have no idea what he’s doing, but I want no part of it,” you agree, motioning for Ray to follow deeper into the room, scooting past Meg and Lindsay adding the final touches to Jack’s dress to greet a shifty Alfredo. “Hey,” he rasps loudly, hands buried deep in his front pocket, “you kids feel like getting high?” Ray’s eyebrows shoot together beneath his glasses until the man angles his elbows, revealing the pile of sugary treats left over. Immediately Ray grows serious. “You got the goods?”  
“Oh, I’ve got the goods if you’ve got the cash mun-hey.”

 

A quick exchange sees Alfredo piling as much candy into your best friend’s hands as possible, his eyes alight in joy. “Wait a minute...” he studies the wrappers, Alfredo’s eyes going wide as he realises what he’s done; “isn’t this my candy?”   
“It is now, dude,” he tries, inching closer to you and towards the exit.   
“You stole this from my station!” Your movements mirror Alfredo’s, backtracking as Ray’s accusing glare falls to you, “you’re teaching him bad habits already!”   
“I mean...” another step back, Alfredo keeping pace, “I really think now would be a good time to remember that – FUCKING LEG IT!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's show time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cinders is being rigorously edited, and ultimately published! Have your say on name changes here!  
> https://chezzka.typeform.com/to/UDyOfm

“Alright everyone,” Trevor’s calls have you hesitating, eyeliner wand hovering before you continue; listening between the sweeping wing. “We’ve got a few orders of business before this fuck show gets going. Which is very soon, I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking terrified.” Screwing the lid back on and moving to collect the final set of horns, you carefully position them atop your head. Long elegant spirals twist from your forehead backwards, curling like waves while you watch Trevor gesture dramatically in the mirror. “So, okay, first things is that – hey!” As Trevor tries to round up the crew the warehouse plunges into darkness, Ray making haunting noises as he plays with the lights. “Spooky!” he wails, Michael pushing his way through the crowd to swat his hand away, the two slapping for control of the switch.  
“Stop it Ray, you’re gonna cause seizures.”  
“Spooky seizures!”  
“RAY.”

 

Trevor waits patiently, watching the pair until Michael takes control, guarding the switch from Ray’s persistent attempts; the man eventually giving up and chuckling. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Number one; stop leaving fucking candy wrappers everywhere.” Your eyes catch Alfredo’s in the mirror, hands buried deep in his front pocket as he shuffles towards you, a slew of foils crinkling to the floor as he moves. You’re trying to keep a straight face when applying the contacts, blinking and disorientated as the white grid takes over; reflection regarding you with a chilling cold gaze.

 

You barely recognise the woman staring back, completely buried beneath sharp features and the deep colours glistening across your skin. Tiny iridescent scales scab over the shape of your elbows and collarbones, tracing from knees to legs and blending with the wicked tiptoe heels thrusting you 7 inches higher; shining as bright as the multitude of horns curving from your head. Laced securely into an ornate corset with frothy fabrics erupting from your hips to tumble to the floor, every movement sees a mesmerising cloud of midnight blue shift and sparkle around your feet. Collecting the tiny set of wings hanging from the chair, you shrug into them, turning apprehensively away from the alien woman and focusing on Trevor as he stands atop a cluttered bench.

 

“Second, we have our beloved Jon here so don’t interrupt his fucking segment or you’re dead to me. If we’re gonna keep this going, we to sell out to advertisements.” Jon in a bright blue button up littered with tiny white birds waves to the left, looking up momentarily from the palm cards he’d been shuffling through for the past hour; desperate to absorb something so he could prove to himself it were possible. A few of the crew wave back encouragingly, Ray and Jeremy cheering through cupped hands; your brother’s smile widening.

 

“Next, don’t fuck with the tour guide, or she’ll fucking kill you. And I’m not kidding; you all know what happened last time Jeremy leapt out from behind a couch. God rest his soul.”  
“I’m still alive,” Jeremy argues, but Trevor powers on.   
Ray appreciating his efforts with a cheer as he the man speaks, “I can still hear his voice.”  
Trevor gestures towards you, the crew throwing double takes as admiration and fear ripple through their murmurs at the sight of your costume; powerful and threatening. “See?” The blond clears his throat and pulls the neck of his shirt, “that’s the face of murder. No wonder Ryan’s crazy for you.”

 

You chuckle; musical notes a drastic contrast to the darkness of your appearance, sliding the talon attachments onto your fingers. “Finally,” Trevor looks down at the list he was clutching, flipping the page and nodding at the words printed across it; “this is Geoff’s baby. Ruin it and you’re fired.” With a flourish Trevor throws away the notepad, making short shooing gestures to the crowd, “well boys, that it, that’s everything. Now kindly fuck off and get on with whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

 

“He’s right, you know,” teases Ryan as he emerges from the crew and approaches, hockey mask perched atop his head and lopsided smile tugging his lips. You raise an eyebrow, watching his eyes sparkle at the sight, “right about what?” He shrugs, reaching up to brush away a stray strand of your hair, fingers lingering against your cheek;  
“that I’m crazy for you.”  
“Oh my god,” you giggle, batting his hand away and mirroring the beam peeling across his face, “you’re such a goof.” In a smooth motion Ryan’s fingers intertwine with the hand knocking him away, pulling you close as though dancing; the brilliance of his smile leaving you breathless, “but I’m your goof.”  
“Well then, Mr. Goofball, how do I look?” His eyes don’t leave your face, blue depths swirling in wonder,  
“Absolutely horrendous.”  
“Aww, sweetheart, thank you!”  
“Anytime, Dear. I tell it how it is.”

 

Then the final call comes, everyone rushing into their positions as Jon’s voice rings through the halls; doors set to open and welcome a nervous public.

 

* * *

 

 

The building rattles with a clatter, shaking with the same nerves the man with wild hair stuffed down, staring into the camera. His lips move with the shriek of the wind, one hand waving with energy, and the other firmly gripping slips of paper. The queues weave through the streets, rumbles from the rooms hidden in the horror left to dance with the leaves, swinging to the tune of autumn, lights flickering through the wails. Excitement clings to the tongues of guests, full of sugar and eagerness at the poster promises of a night brimming with frights.

 

The news presenter beams, the camera man clicking off and smiling back once the segment draws to a close, the embodiment of sunshine yellow and starlight. Both offer admiring glances up to the building, blacks and purples leeching like bruises against the paintwork, chipped and anxious as it trembles in anticipation. The pair quickly leave once onlookers begin to tie names to faces, the wild haired man’s eyes panicking until a hand falls on his shoulder, the man made of sunshine and cardigan’s leading him away with a confident smile in one hand, and the camera in another.

 

From the large, towering door emerges a figure with eyes as fierce as flames, a vicious smile plaguing her lips and talons wicked sharp. Shimmering iridescent in the pale moonlight she flits between existence and nightmares, fog blinding her eyes. The elegant grace of her movements danced to the blood rushing through veins and the hammering base of hearts, fire clogging throats at the thought of what would happen if her body ever stopped. No one spoke, an ushering of stagnant silence settling over the bodies ensnared in her cruel glimmers, the angles of her tilted jaw, the rolling curves of her wings and array of horns.  

 

Slowly, deliberately, she laughs. Brutal tones rippling through the sea of uncertainly quaking by her feet, burrowing into the cracks lacing the steps she stood upon. With a roll of her sharp shoulders and flick of the wrist, an orb of light flickers in her palm, hovering to cast a ghostly hue across the crowd; features sallow and unsettling. “Well?” her voice echoes in layers, taunting as she brings the light higher and motions to the open doors, “won’t you join us?”

 

Movement doesn’t come easily, the shuffling of feet and murmurs of refusal greeting her steady, watchful eyes, fanning through her skirts like a circling storm cloud. None dared to drift past, scampering inside as another laugh tears from her lips, chasing ankles and snapping at heels. “Don’t keep them waiting.” With another flick the flame in her hand jumps to the lights clinging to the walls, surging and spluttering the room in rich heavy purples; the fireplace jumping to life and roaring as though it’d been active for hours. The eyes of corpses peer out from portraits, glaring into backs and tickling neck hairs, the crowd huddled together as she circles, looking for an angle to strike.

 

“It’s so nice to have company again,” she notes, talons dragging across the long grooves carved in the wallpaper, tone uncomfortably polite. “Our last guest’s didn’t appreciate...” a crack sees the lights go out; room plunged in darkness with an array of shrieks. Her gentle chuckles resonate in the walls and playing join-the-dots on the group’s screaming skin. In a flash light floods the room again, her face mere inches away. With eyes entirely white and the angles of her face so unnatural, something about the cool nauseating calm radiating from her closeness sends shudders, “our hospitality.” She lets out a breathy laugh, whimpers emanating from the crowd as a talon traces across the nearest shoulder, dangerously sharp. “Hopefully you’ll do better,” she muses, windows battering with the wind with another flicker of light, floor boards and mirrors creaking in excitement as she gestures back to the door. “Mistress really does enjoy fresh faces.”

 

Heads whip to see a figure doused in darkness and disregard, cradled to the corner laced with cobwebs and throbbing anguish. Slowly, the woman raises her head, dead eyes sunken into her freckled face; mouth torn open and spewing a bloody grin. Hair as red as the flames licking the hearth cling to her cheeks, dirty tendrils as waxy as her complexion, blocking the unnerving intensity of her blackened, blood shot eyes. Looking down upon the shuffling bodies, she chuckles low and heavy; finger nails drumming against the walls while the wind rattles its warnings. Netted fabrics and weighted drapes pool around her figure; shifting like smoke as she watches with darting eyes, continuous trembling hums vibrating from between her cracked, bloody lips.

 

Her mouth twitches, lips pulling away to speak, but all that forming is a blood curdling scream. People jump and scamper away, her approaching figure rushing with a raised hand to snatch at throats as the lights go dark; but once they return the figure is gone. No sign of her haunting the corners or lurking by the stairs, all that’s left is panting and gasps for air. The demon seems unfazed, face almost apologetic – if it weren’t for the utter delight she had in watching the crowd squirm. “None of you are dead yet,” she smiles, somehow having materialised at the top of the stairs, a taloned hand rapping against the banister. “That’s a good sign. You might actually make it to dinner.”

 

She snaps out a hand, hooked finger pointing to the lights and the orb returning to her palm, flame flickering in the reflection of her cloudy eyes. “Come, let me show you your quarters.”

 

Past the winding stairs spins a hallway, walls drunk and carpet cringing. Each step brings anxiety, balance thrown off with every violent lurch, claustrophobia caught in strangled gasps. Focus on the demon becomes crucial, guests hugging the walls and dipping as the ceiling leans in for contact, craving physical touch and caressing the tops of heads. The tiny door is the only option for escape, demon shrinking through in a smooth, unbroken curl; her laughter disappearing in the wind whistling through the hallway. Elbows barge impatiently, the frantic sound of scampering thrust bodies through the doorway and into a room they instantly regret. Mirrors shattering reality as the guests leave the screaming loneliness shaking the doors, bellows of pain and anguish nibbling ankles and flexing toes.

 

The empty void beneath the bed demands attention; glaring at the groups’ shins as they shuffle. Looking around, the demon is nowhere, though her gentle, rippling voice does little to ease the twisting cracks beneath shoes. The window panes rattle in desperation, clawing at the wooden panels holding them in the nightmare; room littered with shattered bones and ruffled feathers. Faint smears of copper red smudge the dusted, mistreated floors; sticking under foot and cracking under pressure. With every shudder of the wardrobe the sheets lining the bed’s underside shift, fluttering in anticipation.

 

With a groan the centre of the bed begins to shake, pulsing in flumes of sheets as the creature rasps. No longer does the incessant scratching set teeth on edge, rather shifting to tear the mattress; feathers shivering in clumps under the confusing orange and purple lights. The oddities littering every surface begin to tremble, bouncing along the grooved wood to shatter to the floor, shards fracturing against the feet of those far too slow. Taloned fingers and protruding arms heave, forcing the body upwards as it struggles. Sickening twists and cracks resonate from its bones, brutal ringing pops forcing the air between its joins; movements measured and unearthly. The frame creaks, a second set of arms jutting like spider legs as the lights flicker sporadically, wardrobe shuttering as desperately as the windows. Sheets seep black as the group scampers screaming, a mouth tearing open beneath the fabric as the covers cling to the spindly arms; a creature taking its first gasping breath, as though finally breaking the water's surface.

 

It begins to growl; claws hauling its contorted body towards the group, room plunged into darkness as the light bulb shatters with a _ping_. The only visibility is gifted by the mournful moon and the beast’s glowing crimson eyes. From beneath the bed expels sharp rushes of fog, the frame rattling with each desperate claw, feathers expelling in puffs. A final, mechanic screech sees the wardrobe and windows wrench open with a clattering smash, door slamming shut and locking the room after the guests pile out with heightened screams. Nothing but pants and gasps accompanying the door frame as it shudders; hallway dancing with a fear that bounces against the mirrors and the scooping ceiling. Distant shrieks scampering between feet to burrow under doors.

 

“You'll have to excuse the neighbours,” warns a resonating voice, demon materialising behind the group, eyes shifting in the fog seeping through the walls, lips curling into a smile as cruel as the spinning floor, “they get a little rowdy.” Fright hangs thick in the air, a chocking confusion searing lungs and blinding vision. Bodies shake with cold sweat, trembling as fingers ball into strained fists. The demon simply watches; angles so sharp they cut away any sense of calm. The world swells, as though even the air feared her, dividing to scuttle away with every swift, dangerous movement. Her shoulders roll with a tilt of her strong jaw, body buzzing. Every muscle tight and ready to pounce, to spring into action and slice tons through throats in a blinding instant, though the scowl tugging her nose exercises restraint. Instead, she beckons. Long, wicked sharp talons coax the group; the fanning of her hair as she turns expelling dozens of glowing blue flames, drifting r as her feet whisper. Guests clomp noisily after her, the dangerous demon the only safety left to cling to, abandonment in the hallway almost of terrifying as the smooth circles drawn by her swaying hips. Powerful legs tether to the clumsy floors, moving effortlessly as others stumble behind; laughs whipping through hair as the flickering flames follow.

 

Winding back to the mistreated stairway she's on the ground, a powerful launch bounding over the stairs for her heels to clatter to the floor, landing smooth as she watches the others descend. Tentative fingers skip over the banister, skin squeaking as they flock, eyes falling on the cloaked figure guarding the fireplace. The demon directs to the cluttering of faded, moth infested furniture draped in dusty sheets, littering the path to the door squealing open to the far right of the room. With the delicate gesture of her hands, the flames dotingly follow the same as the guests, none willing to turn their backs to the towering woman in black whose neck creaks and shoulders pop. The flames swarm, circling the trembling guests as feet shuffle, shoes scuffing a floor that welcomes the abuse. Silence settles with uncomfortable, stifling heat. The fire place roaring with the gentle fizzing of flickering orbs, drawn to the figure's back and hovering like hungry flies.

 

In an instant she’s screaming again, face illuminated with elongated shadows as she surges towards the group, fingers outstretched. The demon pays no mind, a ringing snap of her fingers seeing the orbs rush the monster bent on destruction; screams of anguish quickly turning to those of agony. Blue flames catch in the folds of her fabric, body going up with wicked crackling fire, smoke chocking. In the centre of the room she stops, head tilted back and chin jutting into a morbid shriek, arms rods by her side as she continues to burn. Screams echo from the guests, some concerned for their own lives, others trying to force worry about hers. The demon does neither. Instead, she moves to block the burning woman who collapses to her knees, a hand with pleading fingers curling around her ankle; only to be kicked aside without a thought. The demon smiles viciously, approaching the group and forcing them to continue, eyes fearful and mouths hanging in now silent screams. “Let me apologise once again,” the demon states pleasantly, eyes glowing in the flickering light, blue flames fading into blackness, “we aren’t used to visitors. There’s still some etiquette we’ve yet to nail down.”

 

Then the room roars with flames, walls engulfed in hungry blue licking the floorboards and snapping towards the feet that scamper, panic rippling as smoke chokes around the demon. Embers churn as she approaches, the heat as comfortable as a cool autumn day for her, but searing the skin of the guests. Sweat beads as they run to the nearest exit, desperate for safety until the door slams shut behind them. Cackles smash against the door as guests lock the demon with the flames in which she revelled; cruel laughter resonates with the creaking beams, smoke rolling under the door.

 

Shoes skid in the viscous coating pooling between the tiles, smacks of elbows and knees clattering against the packed countertops and saturated walls, flames diminishing into silence. Appalled groans ripple with the panicked shrieks of those soaking in gore. Frantic hands snatch at purchase, attempting to find the leverage to scamper to their feet, but fingers only curl around hunks of silken, marbled flesh. Their pleas for help drip with fear; sticking in the blood coating their skin and bruises ready to bloom, eyes trapped in the puddles in which they sat. But the remaining guests don't move, locked with unsteady feet to stare at the man whistling behind the pooling counters – littered with tattoos and painful years.

 

Burlap apron printed with hands and moulded with the undesirable; face smeared with death and joy. Clots cling to his tattered moustache as he smiles cheerfully, blood cracking with the wrinkles etching his face. At home in the sweltering heat rolling in steam from the fresh fat beading across his workspace, his clashingly joyous laughter bubbled with the foul smell bouncing in the trembling pots atop the stove. His blade comes down sharply, hacking at the forearm, fingers twitching upon impact, still desperately clawing for life. Residing in his room of red, washed in bloody fountains, the whites of his eyes and teeth shatter the dark despair with manic threat.

 

“I wasn’t expecting fresh meat so soon,” the man teases with a rasp, voice catching with a crack of excitement. The group murmurs nervously, chests still pounding with the roaring flames, bodies trembling as a shared look of panic leaches the colour from their faces. Bodies still adorning the floor struggle to their feet and collide back with the others, cowering and slick with tendrils that should never see the light of day. “They're guests,” informs the demon, somehow standing by the man’s elbow without having moved, her gaze cruel with the memory of being trapped in the flames. The stretch of her smile brings with it a whisper of secrets, eyes fixating on the whites of his. The butcher’s eyebrows quirk; another roll of wrinkles and another shattering of blood. Caked fingers twirling the ends of a matted and stiff moustache. “You know you shouldn’t name livestock,” he scolds, motioning to the huddled and terrified group with a smattering of sinew, lukewarm flecks of fat clinging to their hair and burning cheeks; lungs still drowning in the heated horror of the room. “Names and emotional attachments make slaughter difficult.”

 

“Agree to disagree,” rejects the demon, clouded eyes drifting past the destruction to sparkle with menace, studying the group, “if anything, its worlds more fun.” The man bellows with harsh, bitter laughter, reams of sickening amusement ricocheting off the walls and burrowing in the piles of organs. A large tattooed hand sweeps the chopping board clean of fingers and vegetables. “You might be right,” he comments, critically eyeing the group before selecting a wicked filleting knife, sharpening it with clean sweeps, “I knew it was one or the other.”

 

“We all make mistakes, some more regrettable than others,” reassures the demon coolly, voice resonating in echoing waves, talons locating the only clean patch on the man’s shoulder to pat. Then she turns, not sparing the room with walls oozing gore or the group under her care trembling inside a second glance. “If you can catch one, you can keep one.” The butcher giggles manically as the demon disappears into the next room, shedding the blood as the man approaches, brandishing his blade. Screaming ensue, skittering across the floor with the slipping of feet, bodies bashing against one another as they scuttle away, desperate to escape. Gore clings to clothing, smattering of fear lacing with the guts tracing the angles and curves of their bodies as the butcher lunges, knife slicing through the sleeve of the final guest; yells clogged in the water overtaking the halls.

 

Feet sink, logging in the saturated carpet that oozes the stagnant scent of pond water; butcher’s fist pounding against the door. Wallpaper clings to the walls like they cling to sanity, the demon watching them enter while stood before the next room. She doesn’t smile, lips twitching into a snarl, horns as sharp as her tongue clicking in irritation. The group shuffles, blood seeping into the overflow swirling through the fabric, stale. The demon cocks her head, chin jutting out in offence as she spits her words; “it’s time to clean up.”

 

The door blows out behind her, rattling on its hinges as water rushes in, swallowing the guest’s knees and panic. Gushing with incredible speed, the demon dodges. Flying back with eyes cruel and cold, her arms open as she disappears into the darkness; toes skimming the water as a mournful wail hums through. The obscurity throbs, nothingness stinging from the open doorway, faint ghostly green shimmering with each past of a dusty beam of light. Breath hitches, catching in throats as the possibilities stare at the group through the entrance, ranks tightening at the sight of emptiness and the resonating calls cascading in layers.

 

 The surface swells, ripples creeping into the hallway housing the guests, creatures swarming in the murky depths. Slick bodies brush past legs, teeth nibbling at the hems of clothing while screeching ensues. Desperation to escape sees people diving, forcing their way past others and splashing after the demon, stopping as the floor drops away. Faint sounds of movement scuttles through the water, guests stranded in the blackened room as the door slams shut, locking them in the inescapable hell. Trapped and fearful; kept company by the jagged rocks protruding from the depths, an unsteady light house casts a dim, sweeping glow across the pale faces laced with fright. Whimpers are all that’s left, distraught sobs rippling with the creatures flocking, nudging behind knees and nipping exposed skin.

 

All is still, an eerie calm locking bodies in place, lost at sea – until the next wail. It shakes through the water, incredibly loud and compressing against chests, pressure shifting dramatically. From the depths seeps a glow, drowning in the darkness, until another joins it; and another, and another. Four lights hum beneath the surface surrounding the group before they begin to rise. Slowly, bubbles emanating in quick, sporadic bursts as the demon’s laughter drifts, dark and menacing, buried beneath another wail. The group gathers, swimming together until the light house beam conducts another sweep, the lights attached to bodies.

 

Breaking the surface comes a head; hair plastered to the pale, bloated skin of a man, littered with the remnants of the ocean floor, eyes as black as the darkness encasing him. Through his mouth tears a hook, turning his pleasant smile into a frightful grimace, water trickling across his soaking dress shirt. Gasps ripple, jumps and surprise resting on their shoulders as another figure appears, faded pink hair blinding her vision, gala dress floating like fire. The guests back away, bumping into the solid bodies stood watching, skin traced with grotesque veins, a man speared through the nose accompanying a woman with a broken harpoon piercing her eye.

 

Terror grips the group as fog takes over, curling across the dark water as the horrors take another step closer, heads tilting as one as the guests shudder. The harpooned woman smiles, a pretty expression that sees her mouth spewing water, cascading as she talks; “we haven’t had guests in so long.” Bodies flinch, another step forward bringing twisting fog and an increasing danger; light house beam illuminating the man from the ocean floor, gripping a spear and watching closely. “It’s so lonely here,” agrees the other woman, all their heads tilting the opposite direction with a crack, creatures forcing through the guests legs, their screams ringing out; “please stay with us.”

 

They approach rapidly, bodies somehow moving in gentle ripples as the guests panic, splashing violently away from the lost souls, desperate to escape their chats of _‘please’_. The man hooked through the nose snatches, fog shifting as the door catches the light, fear taking hold and pushing the group forward. The demon levitates between the monsters, surging with them as the first of many people clamber onto the platform, smashing through the door. Her face remains unsatisfied, fog billowing around her body as she cuts the air, stalking the group as they tumble out the exit.

 

The soft billowing wind caresses their freezing forms, shivers and the chattering of teeth resonating through the dense undergrowth, trees baring down to shield the guests from the glare of the moon. Gasps mingle with wonder as the surprise of a swaying field tickles their ankles and brushes against their knees, relieved chuckles reverberating across those who mutter suspiciously. The change of scenery comes as a welcome change, no longer forced to push through and open space with the threat lurking just beneath the surface. Now compressed under the guard of the forest, gentle chirps cut the croak of crows, group finally free.

 

The demon pushes forward, talons brushing through the tall grass to shake loose the seeds, nails slicing through with ease. Her face tilts to the moon, dusted in its cool glow as the members of the group break away; some finding a rare sense of bravery to explore, while others collapse to the ground and let the rush of adrenaline settle. The creak of branches rustles with the leaves, watching the bodies beneath glisten with water and dwindling fear; enjoying the unexpected peace. Then it grows dark. The moon sinks beneath the clouds and the room is engulfed in blinding night, muffled gasps and groans chasing the demon as she laughs deeply, pale silver eyes disappearing into the nothingness.

 

The guests panic. Frantic apprehension rippling through the crowds as a single lantern flickers to life and roaring happily in the distance, waiting for company. A brave soul takes a step forward, then another, grass swaying against the fabric with soft tugs as they approach the light source. Fingers reach for it before a pained howl tears through with the sound of metal snapping; trap’s teeth gnawing on the flesh of their leg. Hysteria breaks loose, guests scattering with the whirling of a chainsaw in the distance, rain starting to fall. The brave soul extinguishes, clawing at the trap as a deep, chilling laugh drifts on the wind, a crack of lightening illuminating a figure stood atop the nearest hill.

 

Screaming fills ears, blood pounding as the man growls through a roll of thunder, raising the weapon before charging. Bodies collide; terrified and frantically searching for escape as the figures blood curdling laughter bites their backs and burrows between shoulders, his blood splattered mask shining with every lightning trace across the sky. Scrambling, those caught in traps crawl as best they can, the figure lunging and missing their legs, severing the mechanism and forcing it open. Cries of freedom and fear rip throats raw, the lantern smashing to the floor as the figure howls, infuriated. With excited sparks, the grass catches, a line of flames funnelling the crowd to the end of the forest, light illuminating the earth as an exit grows near. Heaving with achingly dry chests, the chainsaw chases after the prey, man’s laughter amused and sickening as he takes another swing, flames rippling with nerves.

 

The demon materialises in the path, parting the crowds as they battle through the tall, tangled grass, her head tilted and watching the chaos. Another lunge and the man races past, barrelling after the door and remaining targets filtering through the foliage, demon’s talons gently pulling across his arm as he passes; their manic laughter drowning out hope, stealing the joy from the air. “It’s your last stop,” she screeches, approaching the group desperately trying to break open the door, fists pounding with each of the demon’s powerful footsteps. The man grips his choking chainsaw as he weaves towards them, chuckling darkly and hair whipping around the hockey mask, eyes as black as night, casting death in their path.

 

“Nowhere else to go,” the demon continues, removing a collection of wicked sharp objects from her calves, scales turning to blades; hurtling from her elegant hand to pierce the door, , “but I do hope you enjoyed your stay, you’ll be here forever.” She laughs with a crack of light, the downpour battling the roaring flames for dominance of the space. Another blade flies, and then another. Dozens hurtling at once and spearing the space around the guests, her cruel smile the last thing many thought they’d see.

 

And then the final blade breaks the lock, door swinging open for the guests to topple over one another, splattering to the floor as the remaining force it shut, the horrors locked behind as strangled cries fall on the concrete of a room too bright. All panic seems silly in such a plain space, walls free of terror, cracks housing nothing to fear. Hearts race and blood pumps, whimpers and gasps settling, teeth aching with the cold air raking through the guest’s lungs. The group finally safe; and demon encased in flames and manic laughter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay guys,” drones Ray, his eyes encased with dark circles, “welcome to the end of the tour. Don’t forget to recommend us on yelp and all that shit.” He directs the crowd to the table, overflowing with goodie bags, relief filling the room. “Take your party bag on the way out, and thank you for visiting,” he informs, feet shuffling as laughter ripples, nervous and exhausted as the group slows it’s shaking. Trembling fear seeps into the floor as you watch from the doorway, the cool breeze of the forest whispering across the floor and curling around your ankles. The sound of Trevor and Matt cleaning up the mess of Ryan’s room barely registers, muffled through the glass as they chase each other with the chainsaw, laughter halting as Alfredo catches himself in a bear trap; only to dissolve into frantic giggles.

 

Your eyes meet Ray’s from across the room, guests oblivious to your existence as you offer him a smile, their minds too overwhelmed with the high of fear as it comes back down to earth. Ryan stands proudly by your side, hockey mask pushed up to rest atop his head, gentle smile and warm eyes watching with joy, his cheeks tinted pink from the flames now extinguished. Hand in hand, his thumb rubs across your engagement ring as it had so many times before, playing with the commitment that made his heart so joyous it could burst.

 

Then the room shakes, the squeal of trumpets shattering the calm settling in the shoulders of the group. Voices scream in panic with each frantic flashes of light, skeletons dancing to the fear rattling through the crowd. Ray’s face pales dramatically, bolting to the exit door while screaming, “OH SHIT THEY’RE HERE, THE SKELETON ARMY’S HERE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” Quickly he jerks the door open, funnelling out the crowd who run without through, swarming the doorway as Ray forces them through, terror escaping into the night until the door falls closed. Ray’s face joyous as the music creaks to a stop, bones rattling against one another as the musicians swing.

 

Tears roll down your cheeks as the final shoe scuttles out the door, the sharp snap locking the world away with swelling, cold autumn air. Through your enjoyment, you hang from Ray, his bellowing laughter ringing off the walls and he grips your elbow, face growing red. Ryan can’t contain his chuckles, sound running out and face buried in his hands as he laughs, unsteady on his feet. Eventually you manage to breathe, lungs aching against your ribs as you wipe the final tear free of the corner of your eye. “How much did we get this round?” Ray’s laughter subsides, a silly beam left in its place as he pours out the contents of his hoodie, watches and wallets toppling onto the table, a scattering of coins for garnish. He peers at it critically, poking through the pile before smiling up at you with eyes churning in amusement, “I’d say, probably about $700 all up?”

  
“Not bad,” you nod, impressed and clapping him on the back as Ryan slips a hand back into yours; “ready for the next lot?”


End file.
